


Halloween Shorts

by CrayonEnvious



Category: Original Work
Genre: A build up to Halloween, Blood, Gore, Halloween, Monsters, Short Stories, Spooky, Writober, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:57:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayonEnvious/pseuds/CrayonEnvious
Summary: A challenge me and a friend have set ourselves; to write a short story/scene from a list of prompts every day from now until October 31st.Update: It didn't last long. My job(s) ended up getting in the way.





	1. Cloudy

**Author's Note:**

> For these stories I'm going to use two random characters. Boy: Lucas, Girl: Luna.  
> If the scene involves a different OC I shall classify in the notes.  
> Happy reading :)

Low rumbles hummed from the interior of the bus, the back was warmer thanks to the engine but rockier as the wheels ran up and over the speed bumps. Condensation fogged up the thick glass windows; water droplets running over the clear panels like it was raining on the inside. The drops pooled into small puddles on the black rubber that secured the material and prevented the draft, vibrating in time with the vehicle’s movements.

Golden eyes followed the latest array of tears leaving jagged lines down the translucent **cloudy** coat, a heavy huff disturbing one of the trails made the racing water jump off course and merge with another droplet. “Lucasss” the male’s head darted up from leaning against the windows edge. His eyes darted around the almost empty interior as he pulled the left speaker from his ear “Lucasss” his name was a hiss, quiet and slow, something that could be mistaken for another sound mixed with the hums around him.

The S was dragged out like an exaggerated breath. To be sure he wasn’t hearing things he paused the music emitting from his phone; instantly being engulfed in the silence that hit him like a bat to a ball. Asides from him positioned at the very back and to the right of the bus, there was only an older balding man three seats ahead of him to the left and a young teenage boy scrolling through his mobile at the front row. “Lucasss” leaning forward he gripped the handle of the seat in front to help pull himself up, straightening his spine. He must be going insane. He clearly was going insane. Hearing his name being spoken, called, without a soul muttering a word. He creased his brow but chose to ignore it, edging his headphone back to his ear, mind treating it like a itch you just couldn’t scratch. His temple reconnected to the lining black rubber of the window and the music started up in his ear once again as his attention moved back to observing the condensation on the glass. The hiss came again and the aggravated brush of fingers through his fluffy honey hair could not have been harsher.

Lucas pinched his brow as his eyes squeezed shut. The calls were separate from the noise of his music and rattled his brain like your head in a rollercoaster seat. Yanking up the hood of his jumper his posture slumped as he slid down on the blue patterned fabric of the long back seat: he leaned peacefully against the rubber, head bouncing ever so slightly as the bus continued to rattle from its movements.  


Moments later his eyes flicked open like he’d just been shot as the call echoed louder, harsher, music cracking like static. A breeze so bitter you’d think it came from the artic attacked his cheeks and wrapped itself through his hood and around the back of his neck as though an icy hand had started to choke him.

Thoughts lost and **cloudy** his heartbeat picked up in confused panicked thuds. Fingers curled around the white wire of his earphones and yanked them with force as he became disorientated, golden eyes wide as he whacked his palm against his suddenly throbbing forehead. He tried to focus on anything else that wasn’t the choir of hisses that erupt across his thoughts and echoed like voices of the dead through his ears, hammering at his brain. Stinging orbs strained to stare at the condensed window once more, although the sight only seemed to hurt him more: his knuckles curled, paling as they dug into his eyes to try and clear whatever haze he thought he was in.

The droplet twisted on the spot starting to run backwards up their tracks, the puddles started to jump like needles, clawing their way from the black as they began to empty themselves back up across the fogged glass.

Lucas followed their motions letting his gaze trail up towards the solid material. In the centre is where they stopped, gathering together in prickling pools of solidifying liquid. He edged away in his seat, feet pushing against the dirtied floor of the bus to separate himself from whatever was occurring upon the glass: he watched in horror as the obscure shapes started to mould, form into a form that made him feel sick in his stomach and lungs ache to take in the breath he was suddenly holding.

The glass started to bend becoming flexible in its normally fragile consistency, it pushed forward as though it was trying to reach for him. The hiss grew louder and louder the more the window stretched: his face paled as he made out a hand first, all fingers, thumb and palm pushing out to him as they clawed to reach him: then came the jaw, vicious and blocked housing teeth that appeared broken and jagged: the rest of the face followed, skinny and sharp in comparison to a normal human face, the nose bone was crooked and sharp, disfigured to accompany the deep set wholes that lay in place of where its eyes should be. “Lucasss. Lucass!” the mouth moved sisterly, biting at his name as its tone grew lower, distorted and demonic.

He yelped in horror, but his lung choked him on the sound that attempted to spill from his mouth. He sprung up to escape the approaching figure cast into the condensed material, kicking his feet to protect himself as the palms threatened to grasp his ankles. His pants were rapid as he stumbled into the seats, rocking as the bus continued to move, swaying him to the left as it swerved a corner “Lucasss”.

He fell forward, cursing as his forehead collided with an orange bar attached beside the double door. The bell rang out in short rings as he gained some composure and sense, pushing the button in a panicked frenzy.

The figure grew, grip crushing the bars atop of the seats as it pulled itself, rounded fingers turning into piercing claws as they dug, curled into the padded fabric. His wide eyes flickered to the man sending an unvoiced yell to move, asking how he could not see the thing approaching behind him. The bald man rose a brow, confused at the male’s actions, but what came next was worse. His questioning eyes washed white and whatever was left of his pupils rolled back, his eyeballs caving into his skull as his head started to twitch and merge, the image overlapping like overexposure, shaken too fast of a captured polaroid.

Lucas sucked in a breath, attention turning back to the doors of the moving bus. The flat base of his navy vans collided with the glass, actions repeated before the bus turned once again and sent him wobbling to the floor. He landed with an _‘umph’_ on his back, spine aching just as much as his discombobulated head. From his place on the floor he could see the mans feet flinching and jittering under the separating panel “Lucass” the voice came via his right and his neck rolled: where the young boy had sat a twitching blob of black wriggled beneath the seat. Three orbs as blinding as a phones screen opened revealing rows of shifting, rotating teeth, yellow and as spine-chilling as a sharks.

Lucas propelled himself up as the mass lurched forward as though it was to take a chunk form his face; hood flying from his head as he did. His shoulder collided with the doors this time and his back quickly moved up against them- the crunch and strain of metal reminding him of the translucent wet, demonic figure dragging itself to him from the back of the vehicle.

Saliva refused to form in his mouth as he struggle to swallow against his dry throat. His chest heaved like a drill to concrete and wrecked his ribcage. The entity was practically upon him now, the colours of peachy flesh from the morphed figure of the bald man moving is unrecognisable waves through its semi see-through body. The chill that encased his body grew harsher as the figure moved on him, his eyes squeezed shut as he prepared himself for the pain. In an unfelt breath his cheeks and nose suddenly frost bitten as his ears rung with the screech that rattled everything around him, spine stinging as it pressed further into the doors, glass threatening to break under the intense pressure from his cowering body.

And then nothing…

The harsh force against his back disappeared, his vision black and almost pixelated by how hard he was keeping his lids shut. The pain hit the base of his spine and for a minute he had truly believed he had died, swallowed by the dark bleakness that was hell, the afterlife…whatever came next.

“Damn kids” was the grunt that brought him back. Eyes making contact with the bald man in the open doorway before the doors closed on him. The engine hummed as the large red vehicle released the pressure and its structure rose from its dipped state. Lucas’ gaze darted around taking in the dull empty street that laid out around him, the bus stop pole standing beside him in front of the sheltered stop and then the tiny bits of gravel that stuck into his palms as he leaned back in a slouched seated position before the curb.

His pants were still rushed, heartbeat running a marathon from within as his thoughts danced wildly in his skull. “But?...” he huffed from the floor as he watch the bus pull away. His golden eyes followed, confused and distraught as it moved from his sight. He collected himself, finding the strength in his arms to help push up onto his feet; the gravel fell as he brushed his palms against his light blue washed out jeans before he bent over to collect his phone that had tumbled to the ground next to  him. “Great” he sighed seeing a new array of cracks creating a spiderweb over his screen. Upset and still shaken he threw up his hood once more shoving his phone and hands into his pockets. His shoulders hunched as he closed in on himself to try and feel some form of security or comfort within himself.

“Lucas” his shoulders stiffened at the sound. His head turned slowly, like being careful of Medusa if he were stuck in her domain. He braced himself to make eye contact with something hideous and deadly however, as he pivoted he was met with nothing but empty street. He huffed feeling his posture relax as he brushed off the ordeal as fatigue or possibly sleepwalking on his all so familiar bus route home. He let out a breath as he tilted his heavy head back; his head felt how the sky looked as he titled it back to enjoy the sight of the darkening canvas above. **Cloudy**.

Picking up his feet he began his trek home. Hopefully he’d feel better, head clearer before he reached his front door. Earphones stayed out for the rest of the journey so that nothing could distort his senses, none compromised by another, scuffing his dirtied shoes along the pavement as he did. He told himself to pay attention as his energy began to feel drained and non-existent.

If only he had been paying attention… If he had, he would have noticed the bend in the bus shelters glass, heard the way it creaked as pointed fingers stretched out to touch him. Saw the face that contorted in the material and mouthed his name in a thousand silent screeching voices… If only…


	2. Masked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torture in your typical horror movie style.  
> Story featuring Luna (Random OC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of blood and gore.
> 
> No beta reader this time round.  
> ________________________________________

Hard heavy pants made the inside of the rubber steam up. It was clammy and hot, water gathering in the curved dents of the shaped fabric. The scent was like a ball of elastic bands smothering your nose: inhaling the taste, the smell, forming an aggravating pain across your forehead and making sick clog up the back of your throat. Sweat collected around the opening and ran down the hot skin of the housing neck “Help” the voice that came from the interior was weak and barely audible, the faintest of movements shifting the painted plastic. Vision was blacked and fuzzy, blocked by stitched eye holes and sticky gathered locks of hair falling before the thick crisscross wires “H-hello?” the breath bounced against the fixture over her mouth, casting a new layer of damp to lay across her mouth and cheeks: her growing rapid pants making the temperature rise until drips formed on the tip of her nose.

Luna started to feel the panic swirl and squeeze at her chest. She expected to be bound in her place, locked away and kept a prisoner, but a small kick of her legs showed her freedom and without a seconds thought she eased up with a wobble and quickly found the balance in her feet. Reaching up to remove the object from her skull she found her dilemma- wrists knotted together wrapped in some form of scratchy rough material.

Where was she? How had she gotten here? What had she been doing before? The questions rang through her already pounding head like a very close church bell chiming down the hour. From pain and confusion a concerned whimper left her throat, eyes stinging from the intense heat and the tears that threatened to overflow from her lime green orbs. Her senses were all obstructed, **masked** : sight, smell, touch, taste, hearing. Maybe just maybe if she could have one working she wouldn’t feel like she was about to pass out or have a heart attack. She stumbled as she tried to take a step forward, joined hands outstretched to try and feel for something to lean onto, to guide herself.

The horrid material clawed at her knuckles as she bumped into something hard on her left: surface flat and snagging on the fabric. A brick wall. She staggered as she kicked unknown obstacles that blocked her path as she followed along the wall- occasionally touching the surface and letting the material rip at her skin- to reassure herself she wasn’t diverting off track.

She tried to listen for some kind of indication, something to identify where she was or if she was even alone, although the sounds of the objects she bashed and the heavy breaths of her pants against the bubble covering her head all echoed like muffled thuds. It was like trying to listen from beneath water, the crashing of waves replicated by the sound of her hair moving and growing static within the thick rubber.

The flat wall humped, and Luna assumed she had reached a doorway. Her foot tapped forward searching for any obstacle or possible step, slop in structure that may be in the trek before her: the fabric over her fingers itching as she clutched as best as she could to the carved wood, for some support, clinging to whatever small amount of comfort she could acquire from anything.

She felt the curve of a step beneath her toes and stretched causing the ground to scratch beneath her sole. Dropping she reluctantly released her grasp from the wooden frame, letting out a shaky weary breath as she felt her form drop. The small triangles left as gaps between the crosses over her eyes didn’t leave much space to see anything recognisable; she barely managed to see the edge of the step as she tried to search with her foot “Easy” she told herself, but her tone was far from convincing.

Hair drenched in condensation and sweat flopped forward as he cast her minimal sight down. It blocked whatever light could enter through the tiny holes and pricked her eyes as the locks dangled back and forth; laying across her irises before pulling away to get stuck onto the front of the thick fabric.

If the stuffy air inside her bubble wasn’t causing her to grow light headed, the stench of rubber, the taste of it sticking to the back of her tongue most certainly was. Her lack in focus caused her to miss the second drop before her and in a flash of a second, she tumbled forward: her left ankle twisted on the step causing her to rotate upon her fall, her shoulder and then padded temple colliding with the hard floor.

“Ow” she cried almost silently, weakly as she rocked. Her wet excuse for hair bounced about inside the bubble and fell sideways to stick and cover her already moist cheek and chin. Instant taste of metal, bronze-like and strong against her tongue informed her about the sudden bust in her lip caused by the clash of teeth. Instinctively she raised her hands to wipe the liquid, but the rough scratches on knuckles, strain of her bound wrists and wall of rubber blocked her reaction. Her tongue ran over to collect whatever escaped blood it could, but she’d have to deal with the slow dragging drop that started to overflow and dance dawn her damp chin: gathering on the bottom of her rounded jaw.

Her body felt heavy as she debated whether to stay laying or to hoist herself up. From her triangles she noted the pale grey stone that laid out before her and the disturbed piles of thick dust the fluttered around with her heavy breaths. It was a weird thing to appreciate as the musky sent managed to meet her nose, a nice difference from the rubber that had all but filled her senses, but then came the metallic scent. She could taste it- she was aware she was bleeding- though the scent was too strong for the amount alone she had shed.

Luna debated there being scraps of metal about the place, decaying and aging like the rotting floor in her gaze however, her tilted stare that made the rubber scrap against the dirtied floor caused her to heave in realisation, it tearing away any hope she had left. The pale grey grew into a deep brown, maroon almost. It was thick and looked gooey as it congealed in places, her eyes widened as she connected the smell to what was before her eyes and it took everything for the vomit to stay out of her clammy bubble as she felt all the blood rush from her face.

Blood.

In pure panic she found it difficult to push herself up, the cover over her hands stinging as it rubbed against already damaged skin. Her heart was beating like it was about to burst from her ribcage as she managed to pull herself up into a seated position. Breaths were short and ridged as her mundane curiosity got the better than her and her eyes followed the blood. Her breathing hitched as the puddle expanded wider and the sight of an elbow caused her to flinch at the unknown presence. But as she jolted she recognised the dusted jacket, understood the clothed hands that reached out across the messy floor.

Reaching forward she pulled herself closer: it was a large shard of mirror, dusty but still clean enough to reveal a reflection. She could finally she what was happening, what kind of state and danger she was in, see if she could identify a way to split and separate her bounds. Oh, but how she wishes she hadn’t. She’d give anything to take it back.

Through the triangles she stared back at a monster: herself as a monster. Red soaked into the collar of her shirt and stained the sores of her wrists, her clothes were dirty and torn revealing bruises and cuts, her hands were covered in a mustard sake- the type you’d expect to find hay stashed in- which had spots of red seeping into to them, and her face… no not hers.

She no longer stared at the face she could remember, look into the bright lime eyes she was used to staring at upon her reflection, admire the waves of fire that was her wavy hair: before her was the face of evil. The skull sculpt was long and pointed, nose bulking and red;, skin wrinkled and white as sections lapped down with lines of red falling into the creases; rounded and broken teeth coated black smiled maliciously with raised cheeks that lead to blue diamonds painted around the eyes: the eyes blacked out with thick wire stitching covering their view, hollow and dead; eyebrows dipping between her nose in a demonic scowl, tufts of orange, blue and green sticking between the forehead cracks with a shining crimson glue.

Luna let out a horrified wail. It was her face but at the same time it wasn’t. She choked and wheezed on her cries feeling the room turn cold and eerie, well more so than it had before. Then came a laugh, starting off quiet like it was inside of her twisting head, but grew louder and more sinister as her body began to quiver in fear.

“I didn’t realise you were awake” the voice sounded weird, **masked** by a laugh.

“W-who…W-what” her thoughts messed with her speech making her stutter and slur.

Her vision darted around shifting the costume head upon hers, flicking the liquid and hair around on the inside. She caught sight of the dark material of trousers, the shine of smart brown shoes, she moved up to find a face, but a forceful whack came to her skull and sent her to the ground. Her head throbbed now in more place than one and she couldn’t identify if the wet feeling was blood or more sweat.

A hard grasp squeezed at her neck and caused her to cough on her own saliva. Her eyes rolled, at the heat, the pain, the suffocation “Who I am is not important... It’s what I do, that you need to know”. Grinning white teeth showed in her minimal gaze, clean but rough skin leading up to let her connect with its own “Life is a fragile thing” the voice low stated “And beauty is only in the eyes of the beholder” his last comment was off, weird, but that didn’t really matter. Her head spun and stuttered into darkness: the last thing her eyes noting were the black holes that stared back at her, the evil orbs or rather the lack of, engulfing her mind as she faded out.

She came in and out for short intervals: the stretch of her arms and the scrap of her skin across the cold floor: the clang of metal and the smell of chemicals; the sharp sting and overwhelming pain that came from her jaw and then the harsh slap of air that felt like it was burning into her face.

Her eyes struggled to open. Everything about her felt unnatural and heavy. Sighs of relief from clear uncrossed vision where quickly scrapped upon noticing the medical equipment around her; rusted and stained with layers of dried and fresh blood. Sitting up her head rolled, nails clicking against her hard bed making her cast her eyes down. She was on a dark metal table, the material aged and creaking as she shuffled. Wrists sore and blistered as obvious as the nose on your face as she push on her arms. Her nose…red. Red?

Luna’s legs swung and landed with a wet thud and squelch as her flat shoes connected to the floor. Her hand covered her forehead as her vision sung with her gaze blurring on the ground. Mixture of black and white tiles with dry and wet blood; chunks? Skin? Sloshed in the small puddle as she wobbled. Her fingers gripped her brow, but she scowled feeling the ache in her face as the texture felt off. She felt grooves, thick toughness of rough skin, she didn’t realise how much she hurt until she tried to open her mouth, rub her sore eyes.

And then like a reoccurring nightmare her eyes moved up to clash with the reflective panel of a mirror once again. Its placement was on purpose, placed in your path so that you couldn’t help but stare into it as you tried to leave. It hadn’t been a dream though, but oh how Luna wished it had been. She was met with the dreaded stare of the ugly clown once more, she tried to blink the sight away, but to her dismay, in complete disbelief, she whimpered in horror. When she blinked, the clown blinked. When her mouth gaped, its blacked mouth gaped. Her brow creased, its brow creased.

That’s when her dim lime orbs noted the thick messy sticking around the outside of her face, registered the deep dip from the skin of the mask to the skin of her ears and the clumped blood that gathered around the two parts. Tears built and fell with shuddered gasps as she moved closer to the mirror, the salt from the escape liquid pooled over her lids and stung as they made contact between the white rubber of the mask and her…muscle? That’s all there was now. Muscle. Her skin was gone, and she couldn’t help the bile that gushed out of her mouth at that second. The bubbling acid gathered at and on her feet as she bent over “Such beautiful skin” the sinister voice laughed again, echoing in from the dark hidden in a corner of the room somewhere.

Her mouth, her mouth that was no longer her mouth, trembled. She wanted to know why? Why her? Why this? But the words never came as a wet slap against the reflective glass caught her attention. The questions, all so many question would never be asked or answers: **masked** by the blood curdling screams that followed her sight.

Blood trickled down the mirror teasingly.

Her face. Or what was left of her real face; holes for eyes and split at the parting between flat lips. Her eyes rolled again, her body falling slowly... as did her face. Thick and sticky as the still fresh liquid of her peeled muscles slid slowly and messily over her figure reflected in the all too revealing glass.

What she had thought was a nightmare was in fact a horrid reality.


	3. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creative human taxidermy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Gore.  
> Notes: I do not agree with taxidermy. Also no beta reader.
> 
> Kind of rushed this one tonight so its shorter...working all day will do that.  
> But anyways, enjoy :)  
> ___________________________________________________

In this world there is art.

Physical and visual, three dimensional and two dimensional, hand drawn, computer rendered and carved or sculpted.

Living things can be used to create such pieces, killed, stuffed and posed. You can extract parts or mould them, you can even preserve them in chemicals like formaldehyde to slow the decaying process or even stop it altogether. Art comes in the form of hunting, of chasing down that ideal canvas and starting structure.

But what art is and what an act of evil is, is defined by those who gaze upon it.

“The world is cruel” monotone and unphased came the voice as the snap of latex against wrists entered into the air.

No words were spoken as the shine from the blacked out goggles that hid the figures features met the widened petrified eyes of their target; strapped tight to a wooden chair, wrists and ankles sore and red as the restrictions cut into their skin.

White fingers flicked the end of the biggest metal needle you’ll ever seen; its base thick and connected to chunky clear tubing. It ran down and connected to some kind of tank with a pressure gage and water level.

This resulted in gasps and coughs spilling from the hostage in the chair as they squirmed, watching as the needle ventured closer causing their heartbeat to rise and sweat to form as stomach bile built the closer the ominous figure became.

The chair shifted back as toes pushed against the floor to keep some space between the two, but a strong yank put the seat back in place. Perfect white teeth flashed a menacing smile as the weapon was raised into the air: pleases and cries drown out by the **blood** -curdling scream that echoed into the room.

The pop of flesh and squirt of red followed the pointed blade as it ripped into skin, tears of pain and fear ran down to mix with the crimson liquid as it ran to meet the pool dripping around the neck; exiting the main veins.

Smaller pipes were inserted into the main artery of the forearms and wobbled as their owner shock in their place to try and shake them out however, even the slightest movements were painful, thoughts quickly consumed with the item sticking out from above their colour bone and impaling their muscles. Sore damp eyes squeezing shut so tight that they didn’t see the figure move back across the room.

Click.

The horrid rumble of the tank started; rattling and shifting the metal as it quaked from the inside. Like a metallic hoover sucking at full power, the hums picked up and the suction reached the end of the tubing as the person went went stiff and their body began to squirm- the air literally being stolen from them, making their structure convulsing violently beginning to gargle and choke.

**Blood.**

Formed of active red cells, flowing, charging through veins and circulating through organs.

It congeals and clumps the longer its exposed to the air.

Loose enough and your body starts to have trouble functioning, loose too much and you stop functioning at all.

Now take that substance and extract it through clean pipes: keeping it fresh as it exits the neck and wrists. Make it start to pump in one direction, out, to the point where the heart starts to fail, empties and drains to its natural white shell.

Thick crimson liquid. Contain it, store it, sell it- if you were discrete enough, something so important to one and yet in this moment useless to another.

Eyes of an artist.

That’s what they told themselves as all the crimson colours drained from their canvas, leaving it empty to paint the picture they wanted, that they envisioned. Metaphorically of course.

A smile of glee as dulling eyes eventually rolled back, the choking stopped, veins dry and popping at the surface of the flesh turned pale…oh the joys of silence.

The pipes soon turned clear with only the faint tint of pink. The tank was full and had stopped all motion as the tubing was disconnected and joined to another container.

Humming reversed allowing the colours of the rainbow to rush through the system: yellow, blue, green, orange. They were forced in, filling the now empty space. They bulked the empty veins and spread as ruptures beneath the pale white stiffening flesh. The acrylic ate away, dying the canvas from the inside as it pushed its way in deeper.

Reanimated twitches moved the body as the paints consumed everything in its path. The colours bunched and swirled starting to leak and ooze from the holes. Blue tinted red around the edges squirted from the tear ducts and started a jittery trail down to mean the green blobs turning brown as orange mixed with the colour and was forced its way out of the ruptured throat. Eyeballs turned cloudy and bulged as the acrylic behind began to push against then and made the lifeless orbs rotate in their sockets, colours of the rainbow pushed their way out to the layer just under the skin and brought the once red, then white heart to a beautiful mixture of tones.

The needles were forced out as the thick colours became to much for its canvas. The needle popping from the tainted flesh to send flicks of paint and residing **blood** into the air as though trying to create its own expressionist piece as it raved around in the open.

The humming stopped and was replaced with a satisfied laugh. The smile that came next was one of pleasure and accomplishment. Tinted goggles pulled back to examine the full extent of their vibrant masterpiece. This was taxidermy done right: in the most creative of ways, with the obscurest of materials. A sigh of relief followed the silence. What a pleasure this whole experience was, how exciting it had been to watch life dwindle and take on a new form.

Life, life was cruel, but this, this was art…


End file.
